2 The Benefactor.

~HAN ZHENG~

Magistrate Wu brought to mind a dumpling in a steam basket, pale, wrinkly and wet with perspiration. He was hard of hearing too, forcing Zheng to give up on discretion.

At the price of strained vocal cords and half the province of Shantong being included into their conference, Zheng managed to communicate to the Magistrate that the noble Han family had sent him, the illustrious Han Zheng, the seventh son of Lord Han Yun, to deliver them from their misfortunes in response to the petition they had sent in the winter.

"Our Benefactor!" the little man whizzed, again and again. "You have braved the Contagion to come to our aid when everyone else is fleeing it! You are the bravest young man in your generation!"

Zheng bolted upright, "Contagion, my good man?! What are you talking about?! I thought it was a matter of grain shortage."

Magistrate Wu looked like he was ready to burst into tears. "Indeed, My Lord, indeed, we had a woeful shortfall! At first, the crops had failed because of the cold and rainy summer. Then it was followed by the harshest winter I have seen in my life! And I'd just retired too, My Lord, just retired. I had bought myself such a lovely house with an orchard, after years of my dutiful service to the Empire. "

Oh, who cares about your miserable life! Zheng wanted to scream, but what came out was a squawk. He cleared his throat, "Ah... About that Contagion, if you please, Master Wu?"

"That's a dreadful disease, My Lord. As I said, the winter was harsh, and it must have caused an infestation of rats in the Imperial Granary. Nobody knows how the rats got there, but they must have fouled what grain they did not eat. When we started distributing it for planting, the people started to sicken. There are entire villages dead."

The bun fell out of Zheng's trembling fingers. He fumbled for his handkerchief to spit out what he could. Ancestors, just how many bites did he take out of it? He should have known better than to eat here, diseases always clang to the filthy peasants.

Magistrate Wu droned on mournfully, "Even here, where the faeries' magic wards protect us, the people are starting to fall ill. Thrice-Blessed Landing is full of refugees and as diligent as my predecessor was with the quarantines, it is nearly impossible to keep the sickness from spreading.

Why! The poor man himself had died while doing his duty. A terrible tragedy! He was so keen, barely older than my Lord, oh, such a tragedy... That's why I had to come out of retirement, in my old age, when I should have been pruning trees and enjoying strolls through the countryside. But we all must do our duty, yes, yes..."

"Ah... of course." Zheng crumpled his handkerchief and glanced around for salvation. In the tales, there were heroes walking in at just the right time...

The door of the teahouse remained shut. He was on his own. "Luckily, I brought enough silver from the Han family for you to buy the grain from the neighboring provinces. Take the possession of the chest, my good man, and use it to help the people of Shantong!"

The salvation was within reach, making him dizzy... or was he falling sick already? Oh, he now wanted nothing more than to be on the damnable barge again.

"Of course, My Lord, of course! You'll just have to stay here long enough for me to send a messenger to Lord Zhenshi in Kefei---"

"Why?!" Zheng had not meant for it to come out high-pitched. He affected a fit of a cough, then continued in a quieter tone: "Why should I wait?!"

"The bandits, my Lord! There are lawless men who aren't afraid of neither ghosts nor death itself! First, they were hired to collect and burn the dead, but now they've taken to outright robbery and murder."

"The bandits!?" The unmanly tears stang his eyes. He dared not to even look at his guards. He could hear their stifled chuckles, stupid, ungrateful louts! He'd send them to fight the bandits if he were not so worried about looting, the fall of the proper order and the end of the world.

"Alas, alas for our misfortunes! So you see, I cannot send your Father's gift to Kefei without a proper escort," the Magistrate said.

As far as the misfortunes went, Zheng empathized with the Magistrate, alas indeed! But he was trapped! The walls of the teahouse were closing on him, the air of the hellhole grew hotter and would not leave his lungs. His thoughts scattered like the fire ants through his skull, chaotic, burning. Thanks, Father, thank you ever so much for showing your confidence in me. Your pride will mean so much to me posthumously!

"Mistress!" Han Zheng called after taking a few deep calming breaths. "Mistress, I want the best room in this place, and---"

"I am afraid we're full up, My Lord. The refugees and all," the woman said apologetically with one of her insipid blushes. She looked like she would not have minded offering him her own bed as if he would touch anything in her infested slum.

"The old Magister's house is yours, My Lord," Magistrate Wu said. "It has a room enough to house both your men and you. You'll be a bit tight there, but it is better than nothing."

It kept getting better! Now he was to sleep in the house where a man had just died, haunted by some dutiful provincial ghost, and with the commoners for roommates! No, no, that won't do at all!

"We will seek accommodation with the faery priestesses," Zheng decided. If he had any doubts that everyone in the room was eavesdropping on them, they would have been dispelled by the eerie silence that fell after his announcement.

"My Lord... is that wise?" the Magistrate had finally managed. "A handsome man like you, and the strong lads in your service... some of you might never leave the faery lands."

"You are an educated man, Magistrate Wu. Surely, you don't believe in the old wives' tales?" Han Zheng said without holding his sarcasm back. He was willing to spend the rest of his life in a faery's bondage if it kept him alive and well. The superstitious fools could die in their own rot. A man would grow old listing all the things the commoners were afraid of.

Nearly a full week after, Zheng elaborated on this argument in his head under the magnificent eves of the faery temple. "There is nothing for me to fear here, except boredom. My lineage goes to the Dynasty of the New Dawn, as ancient as the Imperial Family itself. We practice the faery rituals and do not shy away from the priestesses after the religious rights or healing."

The faery did not even look all that different from the humans. Sure enough, they were lanky, and four-eyed, but other than that? Just women that grew leaves and flowers along with hair, and had a touch of fur here and there... the last, to be honest, was not different at all.

Also, they sang their hymns when they woke up, when they sat to their meals, when they brushed their hair, and for all he knew, after every bowel movement.

Zheng took a sip of the flowery faery wine from his bowl. Ancestors, he'd take some singing right now over the silence. They were gone for most of the day and even late into the night to heal the sick in the town. It was easy for them to be brave, they did not fall ill.

The guards were unfit company for a man of his station, and, of course, they were dreadfully dull.

That's why he was stuck here, browsing the pious paintings of the Celestials departing forever for the Heavenly Realm five thousand years ago, and charging the faery sisterhood with guarding the humans against the demons, immoral thoughts and multiple other calamities.

Zheng did not care for the hidden messages the scholars searched for in every faery image. He had gotten sick of his tutors' reverent talk about the Celestial's Final Interdict and its clouded metaphysical meaning before he had turned seven. But the pictures were brightly colored and seeing so many faery sisters embracing the crimson-clad Emperors reminded him that some of his progenitors wedded two faery wives, along with the three human ones.

The Dynasty of New Dawn could not have been all bad, despite the pesky demonic hordes. Zheng sighed wistfully. Perhaps, he should revive the millennia-old custom, overlook his preference for petite women, and take one of the lanky faeries for a roll in the hay. A smirk came on his lips, unbidden, and he drained his bowl. Maybe they sang while at it too.

He was trying to figure out which sister looked most alluring to him when a willowy acolyte glided over to report that a supplicant asked to see him. Han Zheng pressed a faery-blessed handkerchief to his nose, rolled his eyes when a posy fell out, then picked it and stuffed it right back into the lining of his sleeve. Can't hurt.

The man who had asked for the audience waited for him just outside the temple grounds, stomping the new grass into the mud with his restless pacing. His darted along the vines heavy with flowers on the faery side and cresting the monastery walls, and still barely budding when they touched the human land. The gigantic fists swang energetically at something unseen, and he cursed endlessly under his breath. In short, he was a madman.

Zheng would have back-pedaled, but the man had noticed him and closed the distance in three long strides.

"My Lord," he shrieked. "Please help me! I've buried the ashes of my four brothers with my own hands. I buried their wives' ashes with my own hands. I buried their children's ashes with my own hands. My ten lovely nieces, my twelve strong nephews. With my own hands."

He dropped his head and flexed his huge paws. They looked like they could break a dragon in two, but the man took one look and started weeping. "With my own hands!"

Zheng swallowed nervously because the crying was worse than the pacing, more terrifying and embarrassing at the same time. Thank you again, Father, thank you so much for sending me here!

"How can I help you, my good man?"

"I can't walk on the land in which I've buried my four brothers' ashes with my own hands. In which I've buried—"

"Yes, yes, with your own hands," Zheng interrupted the morbid litany. "I am sad and distressed to hear about your losses. But what can I do for you?"

"I want to stay with the faeries forever, on their land. I had made a gift for them, but they were asking for silver. I thought maybe a gentleman like yourself would want to buy this from me. I am asking only for the price of my admission to the Temple. It's a bargain, my lord."

The man took out a long casket from his sack before Zheng could protest that he had no need of the grave goods.

But the moment the lid fell open, his mouth went dry and the words died on their way up his throat. He felt like he was just offered the imperial crown, the dragon-pulled chariot, and the magic bird fenghuang to go with it.

The casket contained the most elaborate, the most incredible pair of pistols he had ever seen.

All the gentlemen of Xichon, young or old, presently fell into two camps. Firstly, there were those who paid fortunes to acquire these strangely graceful, long-muzzled, fire-spitting novelties. The rest wished they had the fortune to acquire them. Thanks to his father's stinginess he belonged to the second camp.

Until now.

"How much?" Zheng's voice rustled like cattails with desire.